


He Who Wishes

by swallowxblue



Category: Marvel, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alternative universe, romance later, steve is lost, tony is a spoiled brat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowxblue/pseuds/swallowxblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Howard finds Steve after twenty years of searching. Tony is a brat who is used to getting whatever he wants. He wants Captain America. Problem is- nobody takes a kid seriously, even if they are a genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU in which Howard finds Steve Rogers after twenty years of searching. Tony is 12 at the time. I'm estimating Steve's age to be 23, and therefore Howard's to be 46 at the time. Pretty much everything else is the same in this universe. I might do some tweaking.
> 
> So, if that doesn't give you fair warning enough- there is a major age gap in this story! If you don't like that sort of thing, I'd steer away from this story.
> 
> Mature content probably will not be appearing for a while. So, for now, enjoy a frustrated, fluffy Tony.
> 
> More characters may appear later in the story. More relationships as well. Hopefully. 
> 
> Anyways- enjoy!

The problem with being a child prodigy, with a knack for blowing things up, was that nobody took you seriously. Anthony Edward Stark showed, from a young age, promise. He had a talent for mechanics. Often playing with small electronics, taking them apart, and putting them back together. Which was all great, dandy, until that one time where the radio exploded. Or that other time where the toaster caught on fire. And, never, ever mention the motor-bike. To be fair, his failures were just a step forward. Thomas Edison took ten thousand trial-and-errors before he found the one way that would work. Every great inventor had his share of explosions.

Howard didn't take failure as lightly. He had wanted Anthony to be everything he couldn't be. Wanted him to be the best. He forced feed these ideals to him since he was a child. Scolding his failures, but somehow never having the time when Anthony did prevail. Eventually, Howard had come to a revelation, he had found it easier to buy the affection of his son. It was much easier to give Anthony what he wanted. The eight year old would point to what he wanted, and the next day it would be served to him on a silver platter. Perhaps his father thought that if he could distract Anthony, or send him away to 'summer camp' or 'boarding school', then he wouldn't notice his marriage going down the drain.

But Anthony couldn't not notice, he noticed everything. The words of his Father would come back to him sometimes. That one night he snuck into Anthony's room, reeking of alcohol, Anthony was only pretending to be asleep. He had actually been taking apart a walkie-talkie, and now all the pieces were hidden under the sheets, along with a cool, steel torch. Father's clumsy hand patted his head in a rare form of physical affection, or affection at all. But his voice was cold and flat. "Why can't you just be normal?"

Sometimes he wished he was normal. Like all the other kids who stuck ungodly things up their noses, and ran around without a worry in the world. But he wasn't normal. He had entertained the thought, more than once, what would happen if he was what his father wanted. Would things be different? Would they be better? Or would he just be like the toys in Father's lab? Played with, until he got bored, and then discarded.

There was one thing, however, that Howard never got tired of. It was the endless search for Captain America, the legend. The search had started years before Anthony was born, it started the day after the Captain went missing. It wasn't like Anthony didn't idolize the man, because he certainly did. He was an legend, and American hero, it was hard to hate Captain America. But, he was jealous of how Howard was hung up over him. For the twelve of his life, twenty years, searching.

Twenty years, wasted, searching for a man who was illegibly dead. All that time eventually is paid off with a single phone call. And then, everything changes in a blink of an eye. They have found Captain America, after twenty years of being frozen in ice. Everything happens in a blur. But Howard is happier. Maria also seems more at peace. And Captain America lies in one of the many room at Stark Manor. They found him in the ice, but also found he was still alive. After much arguing as to whom's property Captain America was, and where he should stay- it was decided that he'd stay where the best technology, and medical assistance could be offered.

And Captain, or Steve, as Tony's father affectionately calls him, is perfectly healthy. The only problem is, that is all he does is sleep. He was frozen in a coma, possibly to never wake again.

It had been a half a year, until Tony finally bucked up the courage to sneak into Captain America's room. Which, according to his father, was strictly forbidden form trouble-making twelve year olds. It was midnight, and adrenaline pumped through him as he snuck through the hallways, torch in hand. He had pressed the door open, which creaked ominously.

That was the first time he laid eyes on Steve Rogers, laying there in the unflattering torch light which Tony greedily shone on his face. His golden hair, and strong jaw, and agelessness peacefulness all stunned him. His heart beat can be seen on the monitor, is the only hint that still lives and breaths. Quietly, the boy sinks onto the edge of the bed. He hadn't known what he wanted. To see the hero, or just the man, Steve Rogers. The hero, the one he could idolize. The man, he could hate for stealing his father's affections. Yet, he couldn't help but see both. And Tony be damned, he wanted one.

He wanted Steve Rogers, Captain America. He wanted him now. To wake up. He pressed a hand to the man's shoulders, and gave him a stern shake. "I want you to wake up, now," he mutters, stops, and then waits. He waits all night, until the sun begins to peek over the horizon, and that is as late as he dares before creeping back to his room. A permanent sulk is stuck to his face the rest of the day. That was the first time, since he was two, that Anthony Edward Stark was denied something he wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

For some reason, or another, sneaking into Captain America's room sort of becomes routine for Tony. It sort of started out of stubbornness, and his stern belief that the Captain would just wake up for him, eventually. Then it became a habit. As soon as the house became settled, late during the night, he shuffle through the hallways. He'd sit there, waiting for the man to awake. And if Tony happened to get bored, and began talking to him about his latest conquests, then there was no helping it. It wasn't like he expected that the Captain could actually hear him, Tony was a genius, but he still liked to entertain the notion.

One night Tony shuffled in, with an different air. He settled into his usual spot, on the edge of the bed, with an unusual slouch in his shoulders. He stared down at his hands, and was uncharacteristically unable to say anything. This continued on for about a week. Until one night the young boy cracked under the comfort of a resting hero.

"Father was happy when he found you, he got better... He and Mother were doing better. But it has been almost a year now, and you are still sleeping. Father's drinking, again. Mother is trying... I don't know what's going to happen. I can guess, and I know, but I'm only a kid. Nobody takes a kid seriously." The silence is stiffling.

"Mother told me that there is a difference between wanting things, and wishing for them. Wanting, is shallow, we all want want things. I want at least twenty things a day. But, to wish for something, she said, it is different... You close your eyes, and use your soul to send a message, to the man who grants wishes, mother wouldn't tell me who when I asked, because I was considering writing a letter."

The boy gave a light shrug, "but I suppose it is worth a shot." He gives out a nervous laugh, as he crawls forward on the beds, sitting back onto his heels. He lays a tentive hand on the man's forehead, and with a slow intake of breath, he closes his eyes. He tries to picture what he wants, desperately. Tries his best, given the formula that his mother gave him. Unknowingly, the words tumbling out of his mouth, longingly, "I wish you would wake up."

Moments pass, for what feels eternity, and Tony can hear this irritating beeping in his ears. He opens his eyes to glare disdainfully at the monitor which seems to be going haywire, and rolls his eyes at faluty technology, he'd have a look at that. And then, he feels a warm hand gripping his wrist.

He looks down into warm, equally bewildered, blue eyes. His voice is groggy, but all the same commanding- it sends a shiver down his spine. "Who are you?" he inquires, beginning to sit up as Tony backs away, hand still caught in Captain America's stone grasp. He looks around the room, tensing, "where am I?"

The hand on his wrist tightens, unknowing of his own strength, the Captain is practically crushing his bones. Tony can't manage anything, but a pathetic whimper at his bruising skin.

And that seems to make him realize what he is doing because he flinches, and frees his hand as if burned. Then he is carelessly ripping out the IV, ignoring Tony's instinctive flinch. The Captain is uneven on his feet at first, but quickly he recovers. Tony tries once more as he heads for the door, his voice small, barely a whisper, "wait- you shouldn't be-" And he's gone.

An empty, Captain-less bed, a blaring monitor, and Tony sitting, dumbfounded, on the sheets clutching his wrist is what Howard comes in to find. He isn't pleased.

Apparently their high-level security isn't as up to par as they said they were. Either that or somehow an unstable man who had just woken up for a twenty-year-long-coma could easily best them. The men ran around the property, practically running into trees, looking thoroughly stunned and stupid. Tony could hardly stand it any longer. Howard had seated him in the kitchen, and was interrogating him in his bathrobe. "Tell me what happened, Anthony."

God, how he hated when his full name. He sighed, and tried not to roll his eyes. For the thousandth time he relayed the same story. He had been sitting there, and then, suddenly the Captain woke up and asked him who he was, and where he was.

Howard wasn't convinced. "You must of tampered with something. Goddamn it, Anthony, I told you, not to disturb anything in that room. So, what do you do? You do the one thing, the one thing, I ask you never to do. Look at the mess you've made now. What did you tamper with?"

Tony bit his lip, and bowed his head. Because there was no way, no way in hell, he was going to tell How-his Father that he had make a wish and it came true. That he made a wish, that the Captain would wake up, so Father could be happy. So, maybe, everything would be right again. Who better to fix things than the living legend, Captain America? He would never talk. Tony feared what his father would do. Probably smack him for making such childish gestures. Or worse, he would laugh at Tony. Pat his head and tell him he was a good, little boy for dreaming about fairies that granted wishes- Tony would rather be hit. "I didn't tamper with anything," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"That, I do not believe for a second. You must have done something-" fairies "-because he couldn't have just... awoken."

Tony opened his mouth to reply, when they were interrupted by Jarvis, god bless his soul, "Sir," he said sternly, sparing a glance at Tony's relieved expression, "the Captain has been... sedated. I suggest you be there when he awakens again, it would appear that he is... distressed." Yes, for lack of a better word, the Captain was very distressed indeed.

Howard grimaced, however, nodded in agreement. Tony slumped in his chair the moment he stepped out of the kitchen, but quickly straightened back up as he backtracked. "Don't think this is over, Anthony." Tony scowled at his back, his heart skipping a beat in dread, as he disappeared yet again. Some thanks.

He was surprised that Jarvis actually sighed, sighed, he knew that the man secretly sided with Tony, but never had he openly showed it. Instead he looked, sadly, down at Anthony. "Come, young master, it is late, and you should be in bed."

He wanted to protest, to stay up and see Captain America. However, he stood, feeling a bit dizzy at his feet, and realized he was exhausted. Completely beat from the long week, and Father's merciless interrogation. He swallowed, following Jarvis quietly as he lead him down the hall to his chambers. Jarvis, who was always there, sometimes, secretly, Tony wished he was his father. He scowled Tony when he pushed too far, but it was always an affectionate one. It was too bad he wasn't. The hallway started to blur in his vision. He didn't know he had frozen, in the middle of the hall, until a gentle hand was placed between his shoulder blades. There was a gentle pressure, and he walked automatically, atrociously unable to stop the itch in his eyes.

"You are tired, young master," Jarvis says softly, god bless his soul. He doesn't comment that by the time they reach Tony's room- he is sniffling. Just helps him remove his robe, that he had wore over stripped pj's, and tucks him into bed. As if by merciful magic, Tony falls instantly to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony would have believed the events, prior, the whole I-woke-up-Captain-fucking-America deal, were a dream. But it was a bit hard to imagine, when the man was sitting by your bedside. He wasn't about to complain, but hell, he had to reach up and pinch himself. "Oh my god, this is real-this is real, right? If Captain America isn't sitting in my bedroom, waiting for me to wake up, and then I wake up, I'm going to be so-" Steve snapped out of his daze, looking both anxious and bewildered by Tony's prattle. He swallowed, for once- the stream of inconsistent babbling ended there.

The clock ticks by and Captain America, who is looking incredibly sheepish, opens his mouth then promptly shuts it again. It takes a few minutes, but it seems like hours. "Er, you can just call me- Steve. Just Steve, please, I don't think... I'm not... anymore," he says dumbly.

Steve looks down at his hands, appearing too tired for somebody who has been asleep over twenty years. "O.K.," Tony says carefully, "Steve, well, I'm... Tony." He holds out his hand with conviction, but the Captain only winces. Steve has guilty fixation on his wrist, and Tony looks down to reveal a gruesome bruise. He retracts his hand, experimentally running a finger over the delicate, purple skin. It is sore, sure, but Tony had faced worse. "Looks worse than it is, trust me, I've had worse. I am a genius with a knack for blowing things up, this is just, like, a scratch."

Steve visibly deflated with a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I thought..."

"Don't worry about it, Steve," Tony tested the name on his tongue, giving the man a shrug, and then a sly grin. "But- if you really want to make it up to me, I mean, you could shake my hand. I've always wanted to shake hands with Captain America."

Steve blushes, looking ready to protest, but takes Tony's hand anyway. He gives a gentle squeeze, and Tony returns a firmer one. "I don't think I'm... anymore. I mean, the war is over, nobody needs a Captain America."

Tony shrugs again and throws off the covers, "perhaps, or perhaps not. Either way, we could always use a Steve."

He hops out of bed, moving toward his dresser to pull out more presentable attire. How come Steve always caught him in his pj's? Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glance of Steve's smile. Tony felt a little weak on his legs, probably from sleeping for so long. Still, he quietly vowed to make Steve smile more.

Howard never did follow through on his threat, it would appear that the whole incident was wiped clear from his memory. Tony suspected that Steve had something to do with it. However, nobody brought it up, and Tony wasn't about to either. Instead, things sort of continued on like usual. Except, everybody always had an eye on Steve, as if worried that he would magically vanish. But, eventually, Steve settled in. He would sit at the dinner table and talk softly with Howard about what he had missed. Other times- Steve would walk around the house like a ghost, unsure what to really do with himself. He was adjusting to things, slowly, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

Tony was curious to what conversation Father and him had when he first woke up. How they convinced him that he had been asleep for twenty years, how he had missed so much, and how everybody else has moved on without him. Tony was a genius, but he couldn't comprehend the sort of pain Steve was going through. So, in the name of science, he went to collect data on the subject.

Tony Stark didn't snoop. He wasn't snooping. He was merely collecting data- providing evidence to support his hypothesis. The sketchbook had been laid open, so Steve didn't mind if he had a look. Right? Tony hesitated, but it was sitting there open- just beckoning for a look. He flipped through the pages- sketches of old Brooklyn, young looking soldiers, and finally- a woman. It was out of place with everything else in the book. It was the missing variable to his problem, and for some reason- it made Tony feel nauseous. He felt a waver of guilt, and scurried to escape the room before he was caught.

Only, it was already too late. Tony set the sketchbook back, just the way he found it, and backtracked right into something solid (and warm). Steve, who, didn't seem all that pleased to find Tony snooping in his room. He didn't look angry, just, that stupid, silly Steve disapproval. Tony's stomach felt like it had just got kicked. He retreated before Steve could open his mouth, hoping that he wouldn't have to ever see him again. Which was childish, and completely unrealistic, but a kid could hope. 

\-----

Avoiding Steve was a new game that Tony picked up over the past week. Surprisingly, it wasn't actually that difficult. Tony knew every inch of the mansion, after many adventures as a child, and so he could easily slip out of sight. He'd skip dinner, much to his mother's disapproval, and often steal a snack later in the night. He blamed it on a flu that was going around. Whether his father accepted this explanation or not was unknown. However, Tony suspected that Howard preferred the quiet as opposed to his usual prattle. Jarvis would shot him reproachful glances, but he never did say anything.

So, per-usual, Tony crept into the kitchen, later- when everybody had finally fallen asleep. At least, that is what he thought. Because, when he was halfway through eating his peanut butter sandwich, a shadow appeared before the door. Automatically, he ducked behind the counter. If it was his dad, he hoped that he was drunk. Tony didn't wish that often, if ever, but now it would be a relief. He could play it off (because he was genius), and Howard would be likely to forget.

"Anthony?"

He knew that voice. Dread crept into his stomach, as he peered from around the counter, and was faced with red, velvet slippers. "Mom?"

Maria had her hands positioned defensively on her hips, and Tony knew this stance all too well. "What-on-Earth are you doing up so late? I recall you telling me you were sick?"

Oh. Tony really should have known better than to cross his mother, Maria could be scary when she wanted to be. She married Howard after all. Most of the time, she spoiled Tony, but that was because he learned better than to make her cross. "Peanut butter sandwich?" he offered, holding the half eaten sandwich like a peace offering.

To his surprise, Maria sighed and accepted the sandwich. She sat down on the cool, tiled floor with him. Resting against the back of the counter, as she bit into the sandwich. Tony felt some of the tension leave him, glad that it was his mother who found him. He wanted to remember this moment for as long as he lived. He pressed his face into her sleeve, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent.

"What is it, then?"

"What?" Tony responded blankly, still imprinting this moment into his memory.

"What is making you so sick, that you have been skipping dinner every night?"

That was the question, to which, he didn't want to respond. He groaned into the silk nightgown, and buried his face into his mother's lap.

"Anthony." The question was more stern this time. But he still refused. The peanut butter must be going bad, for his stomach gave a terrible lurch. Maria tugged at his shoulder, but he just gave out a quiet groan. "Tony. You answer me right now, what is wrong?" The pain in his stomach doubled at her panicked voice. "Is it your Father? Tell me, did your Father say, or do something to you? Anthony Edward Stark, you answer me, now."

He managed to shake his head, and heard Maria sigh. "Then, is it me or Jarvis?" He shook his head again. "Steve?" He didn't move. "What did Steve do?" she spoke gently now.

Only Tony couldn't stand those words. What did Steve do? Nothing. It was his fault. All his fault. "Mom, it's all my fault. I, I looked through his... I just wanted to understand. I just really wanted to understand, that's all. He looked so upset. He hates me. And I don't know how to..."

"Oh, Tony," he felt her hand running circles around his back. "Steve doesn't hate you. He couldn't ever hate you. If you feel bad, you should just apologize."

He lifted his head to look at his Mom, as if just realizing there was hope for redemption. "Apologize? How-?"

"Be honest and sincere, and listen to what he has to say as well." She smiled.

"I don't know if I can..."

"Tony, you can't avoid him for the rest of your life. We are Starks, we don't avoid problems, we confront them." She rose, back to being stern, but sweet all-the-same. Mom really was amazing, he thought as she trailed for the door. "And I expect to see you at dinner tomorrow night."

And sometimes merciless.

\-----

Apologizing to Steve was a difficult problem. Tony was a genius. He had devised several different options. One, writing a letter and sending it through the mail. However, that would take to long, seeing as they had to have dinner together tonight. Two, buy Steve a really nifty present and maybe he will forget about it all. Though, Steve didn't like the type of person that could swayed. Three, invent a serum that could erase a week's worth of memory. Yet, he doubted anybody would really appreciate that one. Four, rehearse an explanation to Steve, and then recite it. This, seemed to be, really, his only option.

So, Tony paced in front of Steve's door, repeating the words that he had to say. All he had to do was knock, say them, and then everything would be done. Yes. He raised a shaky fist, only to coward away for the thirty-eighth time. It was the thirty-ninth time, that the door swung inward before Tony's raised fist. Before it was a Steve, with that stupid bewildered expression that Tony thought he'd never see, ever again, a week prior. And he was dumbfounded as well. But, somehow his mouth still worked.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he blurted out in a row. Though his words were more of a continuous line of "m'sorrysorrysorry". Which was really, really embarrassing. And lame. So, for the second time, he ran away from Steve.

Tony had raced into his room, and thrown himself onto his bed. Wishing to die in self-humiliation. Moments later, however, there was a knock on the door. He could only guess who it was. He buried his head into his pillow, comforted by the cool silk against his warm cheeks. The door clicked open despite his lack of response. He felt the bed dip with added weight. His stomach gave an all-too-familiar lurch. Guilt.

"Her name is Peggy."

That... Was unexpected. Steve didn't sound angry, disappointed, or even patronizing. Instead, he sounded just like he was talking. And that he was. He continued on.

"She, she, was the first gal I ever really liked. Who really ever noticed me, I guess. I loved her."

Tony dared to sit up. He was faced with Steve's sagging frame. His back was to him, but he could tell that the man was twisting his hands (like he does when he gets nervous at dinner).

"When I heard... Twenty years had gone by, the first question that came to mind was her."

Tony couldn't help himself. He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder because he couldn't stand this atmosphere anymore. It was stifling. Yet, he also couldn't leave Steve alone in pain, either. "I'm sorry," he said, and it came out smoothly this time.

Steve nodded. "I'm sorry too... I didn't mean to scare you or anything, I just, I was surprised I guess. Just promise, if you ever need anything, just ask me next time, okay?"

Tony felt his throat tighten. Both burdened by guilt, and touched by Steve's forgiveness. "Yeah, I promise."

Steve turned, a smile was on his face. "But I suppose I should thank you, Tony. I'm sort of glad you looked. It feels good to get that off my chest."

"Anytime, really." And he truly, honestly, meant it. He would always be here for Steve. Just like he was there for him. In such a short amount of time, he had already changed his life. Steve stood up, saying something about dinner, and having to change. Tony didn't really hear him.

"Anytime... Steve." He repeated to himself and the empty room.


	4. Chapter 4

"He's rotten. Completely rotten, I tell you. And more a danger to himself than others." Tony scowled at his sandwich, left without an appetite after dealing with Hammer that morning.

"Yes, Tony, but you really should-"

"Did I tell you that he stole - stole Steve- my science project and then had the nerve to-"

"-eat something, please, you haven't-"

"-disassemble it. Then he rewired it into some second rate, ugly might I add-"

"Tony!"

Tony crinkled his nose at Steve's frustration. He dramatically lifted the ham-and-tomato sandwich from his plate, and took a bite (if only to appease Steve). Steve seemed to take this as a victory and smiled. The crinkles in his brow, however, still remained present. "Did you get in trouble?"

Tony shrugged, "nah, I already had plenty of goodies for the science fair."

Steve chuckled, strategically pushing the whole-sandwich-minus-one-bite toward Tony, "I mean this morning, when you just left..."

Hammer had been there earlier with his father. Apparently they were friends of the family, but Tony suspected that Mr. Hammer annoyed his father just the same. Tony had stormed out during the little play date, which apparently was rude. Tony was just practicing good manners, 'if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.'

"No more than usual," he confessed, taking another bite of the sandwich. Steve made the best sandwiches. It seemed the man didn't have a single flaw. He could cook, draw, and fight. Tony had found himself searching for something that Steve couldn't do. So far, he was unsuccessful.

"Good," Steve said and began to eat his own sandwich.

Tony watched the man return to his own thoughts while eating. Steve always had that deep, brooding look on these days. Tony didn't like it very much. He seemed to becoming more and more distant, like he was trying to make a decision. An important one. Tony hated that Steve wouldn't share it with him. That he was looking else where, to a place, a time, where Tony couldn't reach. It scared him. He wanted it to stop.

"Steve," he jabbed him gently in the ribs, "did I ever tell you about the time I blew up the microwave?"

\-----

Tony's birthday rolled around. Normally, it would be spent in the confines of the mansion. His parents would invite all their annoying friends, relatives, and then they'd have a great big (boring) dinner. It was filled with polite exchanges and lots of daunting questions and kisses. Tony hated it. This year, however, Steve had proposed something else. Howard didn't like to break tradition. He had no idea what Steve had said or did to make it work. But it was the best birthday surprise, ever.

"So, what do you want to do first?" Steve asked, turning around with a handful of red tickets.

Tony didn't respond, hypnotized by the twirling, spinning rides. He could hear the screams of happy, or terrified, children. A fair. He had been to one only once before, and he hadn't been allowed on any rides. Stuffy bodyguards got weird about those things. But now it was just Steve and Tony. Apparently his father believed Captain America would do well enough for a group of bodyguards. Plus, Tony wouldn't likely try to lose him like the others. "That one?" he offered, pointing to a particularly fast machine.

"That one it is."

Tony liked fairs. No, no, he loved fairs. He loved it fast. The way the world's colors would blur together. How his lungs were filled with rushing air, and how his stomach dropped and leaped in excitement. He let out a shout the first ride round, Steve reaching over to grip his hand in concern. Six rides later, and Steve had realized that he had just created an adrenaline junky.

"Perhaps we should get something to eat?" Steve offered after the eight ride.

"What? Are you scared?"

The thirteenth ride later, Tony agreed that it was time to find something to eat. They ended up getting corn dogs with curly fries. Which, was some of the best food Tony had ever eaten. And he devoured it in less than five minutes flat. Steve tried to look disapproving, but ended up laughing as he handed Tony a napkin.

They decided that it would be best to avoid spinning on a full stomach, and ended up checking the booths. Steve had become interested in a shoot-the-star game. Tony watched as he concentrated, punching out the star with the tiny BB gun. The man frowned as the star flew from the piece of paper, but looked impressed all the same. "Nice shot. Pick any prize."

Steve had let Tony chose, which was a bad play on his part. Tony looked over all the stuffed animals, but something better caught his eye. "I'll have that one, please!" The man shrugged and passed over the Captain America doll, which Tony tucked carefully to his chest. Steve turned red.

Hours later- with sore feet, and heavy eyelids, Tony sat in Steve's car. (Steve had managed to get his driver's license updated, and Howard was happy to give him one of his many cars.) He had just parked it outside the mansion. Tony hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until Steve woke him. The car was off, and all was quiet.

"Tony," Steve said gently, his voice piercing in the dark. Tony blinked, feeling the chilled as the heaters were off. How long had they been sitting here? Did Steve fall asleep too? "I've been needing to tell you something..."

Oh no. No, no, no. Tony didn't like that sound in Steve's voice. It was grave, like death, it was that voice adults used on kids. The voice they used when they needed to tell kids something important, but wasn't sure how to make them understand. Steve never used that voice on him. But here he was, now, using that voice Tony hated most. He swallowed dryly, "I'm listening."

"The thing is... I've been thinking about this for a long time, and it wasn't an easy decision. Believe me, I still am debating if it is right. But it is. I have to do it because-"

Tony closed his eyes, he couldn't see in the dark anyway, but it seemed to relax him somewhat. He knew this was coming. He knew it. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that Steve was leaving him. That look in his eyes. So, what, had he decided to make this their last adventure together? This was the goodbye? Tony wished Steve didn't sugar coat it. He wished he would tell the truth. That he didn't want to be left baby sitting some kid. Tony wished that he would stop being treated like a kid.

"...I made a promise. Long ago, to always do the right thing. I didn't think people needed my help anymore. But they do. They really do. And I can't be selfish and stay here- I have responsibilities now. I can be useful to people. Do you understand, Tony?"

Tony wanted to just nodded and say yes. Yes, he understood completely. Yet, on impulse, he did exactly what he didn't want to do. He acted like a kid. Like a brat. "No, I don't understand. I need you. Why can't you help me?"

The silence seemed to only echo Tony's words. His heart raced as he willed Steve to accept his words. He knew it was wrong. After what seemed forever, Steve spoke, his voice tight. "I want to help you, Tony. There are a lot of people who would like to help you, if you just let them. Let people take care of you." Tony bit his lip, holding back a noise of protest. "But you don't need me, Anthony, not like others do. It's not like I am going away forever. I may not be able to call or visit, but I will write you every week. You can write me too..."

"No," Tony gasped into the car, having held it all in. It was all he could do to keep his voice even. His face was hot and wet, he couldn't take it. Betrayal burned in his mind. But not as loudly as self-hatred. He knew he was being selfish, but he really wanted Steve to stay. He was sandwiches and fairs. He was baseball and memories. He was old fashioned music and manners.

It hurt so much. So much.

He opened the car door, letting the cool air hit his face. He gave it a wipe, before turning back to glance at Steve. His face was tight, and grave. Blond hair, and blue eyes, everything Tony had come to adore. To look up to. Steve looked ready to say something more, but Tony wouldn't allow any soft apologies. Steve was leaving him. His Steve. The one he wished for.

"Goodbye, Captain." Tony stood up, and slammed the car door behind him. He didn't look back to see Steve's knuckles clenched, white, upon the steering wheel. Nor the tears that plagued his very, deep blue eyes.

No. No, no. Tony collapsed on his bed, realizing he left his stupid, ugly Captain America doll in the car. His heart gave a clench of regret. He didn't even have the toy to remember today or ever. But he still wouldn't go back. He couldn't. He buried his face into the pillow, feeling more alone than he had in a while.

"Bye, Steve."


	5. Chapter 5

The radio's speakers crackled with effort as music pounded, and bounced around the hollow garage. It was so loud, filling the room with screeching guitars, that one might say they couldn't hear themselves think. That was just the effect Tony was looking for. He swore as a wrench fell from his hand and clambered to the concrete floor.

"Now that is not the type of language your Mother would approve of, Tony."

It took him a moment to register the fact that somebody, bastard, had turned off his music. Not only that, but now they dared to lecture him in his own space? Tony spun around, anger boiling beneath his skin like a nasty itch, an itch that didn't seem to disappear these days. No matter what, the anger always was there, waiting to be awoken. "Who the f-?"

Tony paused as he caught sight of the man standing before him. The itch left and a glimpse of a smirk shadowed his face. "Now, is that the way you greet your Uncle?" The balding man gave him a 'tsk' and outstretched his arms expectantly.

"I expect you to know better than to turn down my music when I am working. Uncle Obie," Tony responded dryly, but walked into the hug nonetheless.

Obie pulled him away. His two hands clenched down on Tony's shoulders, squeezing too hard to be comfortable. "Look at you, all grown up," he praised, making Tony fidget, "how old are you, now?"

"Fifteen."

"Already? Seems only yesterday, that you were just a toddler."

"Spare me the sentiment."

Obie laughed at Tony's dry tone, releasing Tony only to loop an arm around his shoulder. "Right then. I hear you are college bound?"

"I leave for MIT next week." Tony wasn't sure if he was excited or nervous. He wasn't scared, no, Tony Stark was never scared. It was just that he had never really been away from home. The thought was exciting, to be allowed more freedom. The college had already arranged a private lab just for him. It would be a lot better then being stuck in this shack his dad called a garage. It's not like he would allow Tony an actual lab. All the same, he would miss some things about home. Jarvis for one, who was going to do his laundry and cook his meals? But the one thing that did worry him was the-

"I am confident you will do well, my boy. You are gifted." Obie affectionately ruffled Tony's hair, the itch crawling under his skin. "You remember our promise, right? Any breakthroughs and I'll be the first to know, right?"

Tony rolled his eyes, turning his back to Obie to return to his project. He hefted the wrench in one hand, testing it's weight, he would miss the familiarity of his tools. "Sure, Uncle."

"There's a good boy. I should get back to the meeting with your Father."

And then Tony was left in the quiet shack. Left to the mercy of his thoughts. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He looked over the pile he had designated as things he would take to college. Most of the tools would stay, but some could not be replaced. He hesitantly shuffled over, flipping through a stack of papers- filled with sketches and schematics for various ideas that he was yet to fine tune. After sorting through the pile, he guiltily lifted up a stack of letters.

Each letter had the same familiar handwriting, addressed to Anthony Edward Stark. Tony carefully pulled a letter from one of the envelopes, eyes skimming the words he had read over and over again. He gently folded it back into the envelope, glancing down at the return address with great weight. It had been two years now, and every week, without fail, a letter would appear in the mail. Most of the time they came on Wednesdays, occasionally Fridays. But they were always there. In all that time, Tony had failed to write one back. At first, he figured that maybe the man would take a hint, and stop sending the letters. Yet, it appeared that, that would not be the case. A few times, Tony had picked up a pen and began writing, sometimes finishing a whole letter. He never sent them. Instead he'd promptly toss them into the trash.

Now he was leaving for college in a week. The letters would still, likely, be sent to this address, which meant, Tony wouldn't receive them. He felt sick at the thought, the letters were what had kept him company. But there was no helping it. What could Tony do? Write a letter to tell him? After two years, how could he even begin?

Resigned, Tony set the stack down, and cranked the music up. Back to work.

\-----

_Tony,_

_I hate to be informing you at such late notice, but I won't be able to write you in the coming weeks. I'm going on a trip. I should be back given a few months time. I am not really supposed to tell you where I am going or why. It is classified. Of course, I have no doubt that you could find out. But, no, this is what I've been waiting for. This is the reason I left. I am sorry that I couldn't explain it very well at the time, I really am Tony. But I will try to explain now. Mostly because you deserve to know, and I'd rather not keep this tucked away longer._  
 _While I was dwelling at your house, I got a letter with a telephone number on it. When I called, I was patched through to an old, good friend from the army. He informed me about what happened to Peggy. She went on a mission, a deceptively easy one, and never returned. He offered me a job, along with updates to the investigation. I made a promise to this country, yes. But I also made a promise to Peggy, and I will find her. Yesterday we were given an anonymous tip as to where she could be. I am going to talk to her._  
 _Tony, you are a great kid. You are incredibly smart and talented. I only hope that you will use your abilities to benefit this country, this world. You have a responsibility to do so. Be_ _safe and take care of yourself. I shall write you upon my arrival home._

_\- Steven Rogers._

\-----

If Tony had to chose the one thing he hated most in the world, it would probably have to be lines. Well, at least at the moment. A long day of boarding the plane, un-boarding, gathering luggage, and finally arriving at the campus there was endless lines. Tony was not accustomed to patience. He was used to getting what he wanted immediately, or if not so, an equivalent distraction. But, no, being a normal person sucked. However, he refused to allow his father to escort him into the new school, this would be a fresh start for Tony. He didn't want Howard corrupting his new start. That was comforting enough for him to wait for the line to die down in the counselor's office.

The counselor looked up, assessing him, not unkindly, but it was enough to make him fidget. "Anthony Edward Stark?"

"The-one-and-only," he drawled, earning an unprofessional roll of the eyes. Yes, he deemed her okay.

"Maria Hill, or Miss Hill will do fine. I am your counselor. Usually, it is only my task to assign your room number and show you around campus, given you need directions. However, as you are a special case, you are to report to me at least once a week at your convenience. That is, until we are confident you have become well adjusted to the college lifestyle."

Tony watched her tap her pencil on the clustered desk, "what am I to report?"

Hill gave him a slight shrug, "how you like campus. If your classes are too challenging. If you are making friends. General stuff, just come in for five minutes and I can check you off. Basic protocol."

"Sounds like a fun time."

"Two sixty is your room number," she slid over a slip of paper and a key, "we don't have spares so don't lose the one you got."

"Sure thing," Tony tucked the key and slip into his jean pocket. "Is there anything else I should know?"

She passed him a map of the school, which he pocketed as well. "Don't get in trouble, and if you do, don't get caught. Director Fury is not fun when trifled with."

"Noted. If that is all?"

"Your dismissed. Remember to check up."

"Will do, Miss Hill."

\-----

Tony loved college. He loved being able to walk free around the grounds. The architecture of sleek, and modern giving him a small thrill. He hoped the labs were just as new and shiny as the buildings were. As some would flee away from change, Tony found comfort in it. He would have skipped up to the building, and hopped up the two flights of stairs had he not been weighed down by luggage. Lots of luggage. He heaved his bag over his shoulder, the weight suddenly bearing down on him. As light as he felt, he also felt a great burden. If he didn't do well, would he be forced to leave? To return home with his tail between his legs? He couldn't allow that. He had to succeed. There was no other option. Failure was not an option.

With a conflicted heart, Tony unlocked the door to his dorm room. It was surprisingly spacious, but also fitted two beds with another person. He had almost forgotten he had to share a room. Almost. Sitting on the other bed was a boy just a few years shy of Tony's age, he had brown curly, unruly hair and large framed glasses. "Well, hello, hello," Tony greeted as cheerful as he could manage. He suddenly felt exhausted, he dropped his suitcase at the foot of his bed and hopped up.

The boy looked up from his book, he looked like he was swallowing some anxiety. "Banner, Bruce, hello."

Tony grinned, amused, "Stark, Tony."

"Sorry..." The kid sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"No, no, it's efficient. I like it."

"Really?"

"Really." Bruce eyed Tony with some suspicion, but must of decided he was trustworthy because he returned to his book. Maybe having a room mate wasn't going to be as dreadful as Tony thought. "Well, I suppose I should tell you... I am not a morning person, not when I haven't gotten at least a pint of coffee in me. And I am awake at ungodly hours of the night. In fact, I don't sleep. I mostly talk excessively and make large messes."

Bruce cracked a smile from over his book. "That's O.K."

"Really? Damn, I was hoping to scare you away so I could have the room to myself."

He laughed, "really. As long as you can tolerate a room mate that has anxiety about more things than should be normal. Who builds up stress until it consumes me, and has a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night and stay up."

"Sounds like we are the perfect match."

"Sounds like it."

"Good. Now first things first, we must make a direct route to coffee for the morning. It is essential for bother our sakes."

Classes would start tomorrow. And Bruce was kind enough to show Tony around campus, as he had arrived a day earlier. A hope began to swell up inside of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt properly happy. This could be a really good thing. A great thing. On that high note, he sat down to do something he should have done a long time ago.

\-----

_Steve,_

_Guess who? It's Tony. You know, the-one-and-only Anthony Edward Stark? Here is a brief update: I am a genius and at college now. It feels like a dream come true. I wish you could see it here, Steve. From the letters you've been writing me, it would appear you've seen a lot more of the world in the past few years. Now it is my turn. I'm sending you my new address. Come visit some time._

_\- Tony._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. First of all, thanks for all the support/great response. Things are starting to get a little heavier now. And with that comes a few warnings. Minor character deaths (multiple) and some upcoming triggers may be depression. Fluff will still bounce its way around. But things are going to get a bit darker in coming chapters.   
> Cheers.

"Put your hands up! Please, don't make me have to hurt you!"

He complied, raising his hands carefully."Easy," he reasoned, as he was out gunned, and didn't need this panicked kid getting trigger happy.

"Now turn, hands on your neck, no funny business!"

"Okay, just relax," he placed his palms to the nape of his neck, slowly. Promptly, he was slammed into the wall, though he had been expecting it, it still bruised. The kids hands were clammy around his, as the cool metal of cuffs bit into his wrists.

With him, seemingly, defenseless the kid seemed to relax. His breathing was steadier, and steps more sure as he stepped back. "Now turn, again, slow."

He did as he was ordered, looking down at the titled floor. Wishing that the kid would no longer feel the gun was necessary now that he was cuffed. No such luck. At least his chances of getting shot had decreased, if only slightly.

"Now," the kid waved the gun carelessly, brave enough to be cocky now that his prisoner was without the use of his hands. "Walk."

So, he walked on. He kept his eyes and head down. It wasn't until he heard the kid fall into step behind him, that he dared a smile of grim satisfaction. It was hard to infiltrate a place of high security. It seemed reasonable enough that the easiest way in was to be captured. And so Steven Rogers was captured. And now he was a step closer to paying off a debt, a debt that should of been repaid a long, long time ago.

\---

Tony was not panicking. He didn't panic. He was a Stark after all, and Stark do not know fear, and especially not panic. They dealt in a civilly calm matter. So, no, he was just a little concerned. That was all.

"Will you stop pacing, please, stop pacing. You are making me anxious."

"I am not pacing," Tony snapped in return, turning to face an amused looking Bruce.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders, and looked down at the book in his criss-crossed lap, "as somebody who paces a lot, take it from me, you were just pacing."

Tony bit back a tart reply, because fighting with Bruce was impossible. The kid was like bloody Buddha most of the time, and the other times he was too neurotic to prob. He had learned this quickly enough. Right now, though, Bruce was on full-out-Buddha mode, and it was like fighting at a form that just calmly spat out reasonable shit. He hated it. It was like trying to fight the air around you, impossible, and you'd just end up hurting yourself. "Yeah? What of it?" Tony forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed. His leg bouncing in heed of the lack of pacing.

"Nothing," Bruce didn't say anything, but his body language said it all. It said, 'I will only talk if you want to listen.'

"What?" he demands again, with less patience than usual.

Bruce shrugs his philosophical shoulders, "I've never seen you pace before. Not over school work. Stuff that usually causes me anxiety. I suppose, I am just curious at to what can wind you up so."

"Wind me up- I am not-"

"Look, you can deny it all you want, but we both know that you are. And denial isn't help you fix the problem. At least be honest with yourself."

Tony set his jaw, biting down on his inner cheek, in order stop going out on rampage on that stupidly calm expression his room mate's face. He's never hated Bruce before, found his honesty, oddly, comforting. But when it came back around, it was like a slap in the face. Dumping cool water over his naked, unprepared body. And he hated how right he was. Instead of venting his anger on his own friend, he darted for the door.

Bruce didn't blink an eye. Instead, he calmly turned back to his book. "Later, then," he chimed softly as the door slammed shut.

\---

Tony hated that Bruce was right. He doubted Bruce even knew how accurately he hit the nail on the head. See, Starks, well, they were the masters at running away from problems. They put on a brave smile, drank some alcohol, and lied. They lied to everybody, even the closet people to them, and sometimes, even to themselves. They were the masters of lies. And alcohol, the two made a bad combination, if Howard was anything to go by. Tony wondered how many lies Howard had told himself. He also wondered how many of those he believed. Perhaps, the reason he found Bruce's honesty comforting, was because it was anything but Stark. Secretly, he had been hoping some of it would wear off on him. Banner wore his emotions on his sleeve, Tony admired how difficult that was. How brave it was. Not at all like the coward who lies to themselves.

He stuck his key, and turned right, pulling open the little metal box. Yet, just like before, it was empty. There was no mail today. Yet, Tony couldn't keep himself from checking. Constantly, hoping that a letter with familiar writing would magically appear. He had already called Jarvis, asking if one had arrived to the house. He calmly responded that, no, one had not. Yet, it was very likely that perhaps there was just a hold up.

There was no hold up. There couldn't be. Those letters... Steve, he wrote every week without fail. What was different about that now? Even if he didn't have Tony's current address, he'd still have sent one to the house. Nothing had changed from two years ago. Nothing, except for the fact that Tony replied. Was he displeased with the letter which he sent? Did he figured Tony no longer needed him? Or did he just tire of spending time writing an irritating kid? It was unknown. All he knew, that in two years there was never a hold up, and now Tony had gone fucked everything up. Just like usual. He slammed metal box closed, only to catch his right hand, that had been retreating from the impulse. Oh. Pain bloomed through his fingers, which was a comforting exchange. He groaned, fury quickly dissolving to disappointment- pain.

He returned clutching his hand, his fingers swollen and fat. Bruce timidly raised an eyebrow, but thankful did not ask any questions. Instead, he stood up, and retrieved a cool cup of pudding from the mini-fridge. He passed it to Tony, mumbling, "sorry, it is all we have at the moment, but it should help the swelling a bit."

"Also is good to eat," Tony agreed, forcing a smile to his lips, as he pressed it to his throbbing hand.

"You hungry?"

He shrugged, forgetting the last time he ate. Bruce had tried to scowl him about it once, but as his eating habits weren't exactly normal either, he had no place to talk. "Not really."

"Okay. Can you flex your fingers for me?"

Really, Bruce would make an excellent doctor, or even nurse. He could see it, Bruce calm and composed talking care of his patients. Two scowled at his swollen fingers, and tried to flex them as best he could manage.

"None are broken then, that's good. Jesus, you really did a number on that hand this time Tony, it may take a few days for the swelling to go down. But you will be okay."

He regretfully tried to flex his fingers again, only to get a burst of pain. He wasn't going to be much of a use in the lab over the next few days. Sometimes, even though he didn't like to admit it. Tony Stark was incredibly stupid.

"Either way, it is straight to the doctors with you in the morning. For now, get some rest. And rest that hand on high elevation."

He didn't give Bruce Banner enough credit sometimes. Tony sank back into his bed. And, no, he definitely was not sulking with a cup of pudding in hand.

\---

As it turned out, Dr. Banner had been right. He didn't break anything, but the swelling rendered his hand pretty much useless over the past two days. He had gone to Miss Hill to tell her why he would be missing two lab days in a row, and received a serious lift of eyebrows. She shook her head, and dismissed Tony's excuses. "Just go home and heal, Stark, next time try not to damage your most valuable attribute."

"I thought that was winning personality."

"Get some rest."

Tony would be proud of the fact that he had completely broken the ice with Miss Hill, as she easily lost her professional shell around him. But he was too embarrassed at how easy she could see through him. He hadn't slept last night, the fault of a throbbing hand, and the other fretting over a certain perfect, American heart-throb. Either way, he was pretty much screwed. He pressed back into the room, and collapsed on the bed. Maybe Steve was writing him out of pity all those years. Maybe this was for the best. No letters were better than pity letters. Tony didn't need those. He had been a little kid who was desperate for attention when Steve left. He wasn't that kid anymore. He was all grown up. And he didn't need Steve anymore.

But he wanted him.

\---

It was really cold. So, so cold. Steve wished his hands were free so he rub the chill from his arms. He had become less tolerate of the cold. Perhaps it was something to do with being frozen in it for twenty years, that just unnerved him. A unexpected chill ran up his smile as the pistol of a gun was pressed into his back. "Keep moving." He complied easily enough, not having realized he had stopped. He allowed himself to be cowed into a small room, iron bars slamming shut behind him. Again, he had saw this coming. But seeing the bars, being trapped, it never felt so real. Only he wasn't trapped, he had voluntarily came here to save somebody. He curled, the best he could with cuffs, on the cot. They didn't even offer him the comfort of a blanket.

\---

He remembered the second night after he had awoken. He had been having a nightmare, to which he woke up violently, shivering and cold. There was a quiet yelp, and he saw young Tony's face inches from his. "I... Didn't mean to wake you, you just looked like you were cold, so..."

He noticed that there was another blanket, half pulled over his heavy comforter. He managed a smile. Though, it still didn't explain what the kid was doing in hos room so late.

"Sorry, force of habit, really, I used to visit a lot."

Either Tony was telepathic, or he didn't realize he had been thinking aloud. He believed it was the latter.

"Well, I'll just go then..."

Steve felt a tug of panic. He knew it wasn't right, to ask, but he didn't want to be alone. And someone even a little familiar was a comfort. "Wait... Well, since you are here already, I mean, there is no reason for you to leave right away. You you want to that is, you can-"

Tony gave him an easy smile, "relax, I can stay and talk if you like." And before Steve could protest Tony pulled back a corner of the comforter and slipped right into the bed beside him. The kid was like a little furnace of heat.

"Thanks," he said simply, as there was nothing else he could say.

"None needed. I know what it is like, you know, being alone. I am just repaying a debt."

When Steve had inquired what debt it was Tony owed, the boy just shook his head and mumbled something intelligible. The kid then curled up against his chest, warming him inside and out, with just the comfort of a companion. Somebody to just be there. Steve relaxed and feel into a peaceful sleep. That was, after promising to protect the child who reached out to offer comfort to an almost complete stranger.

\---

He wondered how Tony was doing right now. If he had gotten Steve's letter about leaving. Would he even miss Steve writing him? All those letters, and he had never gotten a reply. He was curious to know if they were even read. Though, he couldn't picture that kid just throwing the letters away. He just hoped Tony was okay. He had made a promise to write every week, but also one to protect him. Duty and old promises had carried him away. But he tried his best to reach out for that compassionate child he had come to know, and love with time. The cold didn't seem to effect him so much, as he recalled the few good memories he had since he woke up. All were with Tony. Really, when he was finished with all this business, he wondered if it was possible that the could pick up where they left off. Or at least talk. If Tony wanted to talk.

But that was all for another time. For now, he needed to get some rest. Tomorrow was stage one, in the escape plan. He would need all the rest he could get.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everybody has having a great holiday!  
> warning: sexual content/underage/consent issues

"This is a bad idea."

"Why do you say that, Brucie?"

"Because you are doing this out of spite, nothing good ever comes out of that."

Tony smiles at the apprehensive Bruce in the mirror, whose frown continues to deepen. "Hey, I am going because I was invited, can't be rude!"

Here it comes, the famous Banner eye roll, "yes, well, you've been invited at least more than a dozen times because you're..." He trails off there, releasing that he was treading in deep waters from here.

"Because I'm Tony Stark, yeah, I know. But I was invited by a friend this time, and Clint just would not take no for an answer."

"Barton! Oh no, Tony, I refuse-"

"How do I look?" he interrupts, smoothly turning to reveal a fine, trimmed suit.

"Good, but, no, Tony-"

"Mum," that got him a real glare, "listen, Brucie, if I wanted a lecture I would of called Pep. Or maybe even Rhodey. Or maybe even my actual Mum. But no, here I am, with you, I expect more of my fellow resident genius."

Bruce crosses his arms defensively, "as if there is anything smart about this."

"It's a party. I'm a big boy, now, don't you worry. I've been to several, even nicked some alcohol from Daddy dearest. I can handle it." He doesn't wait for Bruce to catch him with a reply, but instead grabs his jacket and slides out the door with a 'catch you later'.

"Yeah. Given the circumstances..." Bruce lets out a long suffering sigh to the empty room. Normally, he wouldn't warrant much concern to Tony's actions, he was erratic at best. But given that something was severely bothering him for the past few days, well, this didn't seem the best solution to those problems. But who was he to say anything? He was just Tony's room mate. He had made that much clear.

\-----

"Tasha?"

The red-head with beautiful, but sharp, eyes turns on him. She doesn't look too pleased that he knows her name, but he supposes she has good reason to be wary. On her cheek is an old bruise coloring, but, if anything, it just makes her look more defiant. "Whose asking?"

Steve swallows down an automatic response, but recites instead. "Oh, the blooming, bloody spider went up the water spout."

"And they killed the spider."

"Leaving a widow."

The red-head sucked in a breath, "O.K." She gave him an once over, "seeing as how you took all the effort to get to me, being in solitary confinement, I suppose I'll help you. Name first."

"Rogers, Steve."

"Good. Now, Rogers, get back to mopping that floor, the guard is beginning to look suspicious."

\-----

"You sure?"

"Barton, if you are having second thoughts, remember, the safe word is-"

"Shut it, Stark," says the Captain of the archery team, whom has just wagered that if Tony loses, he has to upgrade the team's bows. As if he'd lose.

"You know, I am sure this in some for or another is prostitution, offering up my body... To your services."

"You're the one who made the wager, roll the dice."

"Don't forget, you must address me as only Genius Sex God."

"Whatever," Clint mutters gruffly.

And that is about as much of an agreement they will ever reach, seeing as how 'Master' was out. Tony shook the die in his hand, bystanders all holding their breath for the outcome, as he tosses. He closes his eyes, awaiting the taste of victory, only he hears Clint's victorious shout, and only tastes bitter. He tries not to be a sore loser as Barton claps him on the shoulder, muttering how he wants the bows by the next competition. Yeah, well, he'll get them when he gets them.

Figuring the odds are against him, Tony saunters over to the makeshift 'bar'. All there really is cheap beer, but it would have to do. And did it taste awful, yes! If he missed one thing about his father, it was his good taste in liquor. He was just about ready to ditch completely, and head back to his lonely, quiet dorm with Bruce... But there was a tap on his shoulder, revealing a sleek, young looking blond. "Would you care to dance?" she asks him seductively, as if he'd say no.

\-----

"Again? Twice in one day? Careful, I might believe you have a crush on me, Rogers."

Back from isolation, they had to be more careful about what they said... After all, there were more ears to hear here.

Steve shrugs his shoulders, pausing, as he slides the tray of food through the bars to the woman, now drawing closer to the bars. "Just on food call, the usual bloke got ill."

Knowing sparked in the red-head's eyes, "did he now? Bad luck, there."

"I'll be back around to pick up your tray, enjoy."

A dangerous smirk played on her lips, "oh, I will."

Away walks Rogers to his duty. And nobody notices as the red-head pulls out a slip of paper slipped under the bread. She scans it briefly, and then it disappears with a mouthful of bread.

When Rogers returns he dutifully picks up the tray, lingering only for a moment. "Well, was it good?"

"Yes, very," she mumbled as she curled into herself, back to sleep.

He bit back a smile.

\-----

Tony didn't really know how he got from dancing, to frantically being pulled into a closet. Well, maybe he did, but the buzz of cheap alcohol made him dazed nonetheless. Sex didn't alarm Tony, but that didn't change the fact that he was still young... And he had hardly done much more than kiss and look through his dad's porn stash. As much as he joked, he really hadn't gotten to do much in his time. He was mostly talk.

And then, he hardly had time to breath, because he was pragmatically being smothered by the blond's kisses. He didn't have time to kiss back before her hand was down his pants and oh- oh.

She was at least three years older than him, and yet, here she was stroking his- Tony really wasn't thinking, as he was braced back against the door, moaning. But as the pleasure built, burning inside of him, he felt sick. Because he knew the only reason she was doing this was because he was a Stark. And apparently giving a hand job to a Stark seemed liked a good thing to check off the bucket list.

In a situation such as this, Tony' brain seemed to reboot to a scientific stand-point. This was an experiment. He found it arousing that he wasn't in complete control, surprisingly, he didn't mind being dominated. It felt good to leave something up to somebody else for once, to not care for anything else but pleasure. For release. He thrust weakly into her hand, his knees felt like jelly, but he desperately needed it...

She granted him hard, quick tugs and from there he was completely lost. He came with a muffled moan. The blond hardly wasted any time getting everything cleaned up... Wiping off her hand, buttoning up Tony's trousers and stepping out with a kiss to his cheek. And it left him in the dark closet. He felt utterly empty and spent. Which, he supposed was what he had gone out looking for... What Bruce had warned him about.

Worse, yet, guilt invaded his gut and mind, as in his last few moments of the experiment he had imagined somebody else. Somebody who should never, ever, enter any of Tony's fantasies. And, yet, now that it was there, it felt like it had always been. He weakly sank back against the door, tugging his knees to his chest... He supposed, in a logical sense, it sort of was foreseeable. How he worshiped him. Those posters he looked longingly at as a child. Still. Still, he couldn't accept it.

Couldn't accept he had just been finished by the thought of, not Captain America, but Steve.


End file.
